


Sapling

by B1uebeary



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Haruno Sakura, Eventual Romance, F/M, Feminist Themes, Gen, If I can slip in some Jiratsu I will find a way, Mokuton User Haruno Sakura, No romance until later, Personal Growth, Still figuring out as I go, Training, genjutsu Sakura
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:20:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26397049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B1uebeary/pseuds/B1uebeary
Summary: The last member of Team 7 left in Konoha, Sakura finds herself struggling to find direction and resolve. She wants to be more than a strong kunoichi, she wants to be a great Shinobi.They would not turn their backs on her again, even if they wanted to, because if they did, they would be exposing themselves to her attack.-------Trees were harmed in the making of this fic.
Relationships: Haruno Sakura & Yamanaka Ino, Haruno Sakura/Uchiha Itachi
Comments: 79
Kudos: 367





	1. Into/ Reflections

**Author's Note:**

> In honor of every awesome fic I've read in the BAMF Haruno Sakura tag. 
> 
> This is also my first ever attempt at publishing work, so feedback is appreciated, and roast me softly if at all possible.
> 
> Thank you.

Sakura walked the evening streets of Konoha, chasing the last fingers of sunlight as they slipped away into the shade. Loneliness, she thought, gained a certain gravity in the fading light. She could be honest with herself without shame. Wonder how her life closed her in and scooped her up and led her on, and still she felt like a stranger in her own routines. 

She could be taking the roofs, but recently she has found a certain peace in the slow walk from the Hokage tower to her home. Seven blocks and two turns, just enough time to let her thoughts grow roots, fed by the steady rhythm of steps. Her feelings of isolation were hardly new these days, but there was a significant difference between feeling alone surrounded by parents and friends and mentors, and finally being literally alone enough to see and feel her own thoughts honestly. She didn’t think she was some mask wearing sociopath (psychopath? Tsunade hadn't really gone into particular depth about mental disorders yet) who wore and changed through emotions faster than Ino changed outfits in the hour preceding any relevant social function. But being constantly surrounded by variations of the Hokage herself, her parents, and Ino, it was often easy to get caught up and subsumed into their passionate moods. 

When she was truly alone, it was just her thoughts, growing as big as they liked and occupying the surrounding space. 

She was the last one left. First Sasuke-kun and then Naruto gone, with their respective great dreams and great revenges. Kakashi-Sensei wasn’t even worth discussing. 

She missed them most times, but sometimes she didn’t. When they had been a team, she never had had to reckon with their dynamics, and her own complicated feelings about Team 7. Now she’d had almost two years to think, and she’d come to a number of uncomfortable realizations. 

She didn’t know who she was, except in relation to them. Sasuke-kun’s fangirl, Naruto’s consolation prize, and an innocent for Kakashi-sensei to protect. Becoming a genin had been an experience that she had secretly expected would force her to grow, and grow she did, if coming to terms with a lot of hard truths at once counted as growing. As team 7 had come together, Sakura had become increasingly aware of her own inadequacy. Every time Naruto and Sasuke grew more powerful, and came together as rivals and then suddenly, as friends, she shrunk a little bit more. Every time Kakashi-Sensei turned away from her, or forgot her training, or used her as motivation for her boys, every time they took up more space, she felt herself taking up less.

The worst part was, she didn’t hate them at all, Kakashi-sensei being the exception. She admired Naruto's brashness and his goodness, even envied his enthusiasm, his exuberance. And she loved Sasuke-kun still, just not so loudly anymore. 

She paused her ponderings for a moment as she made the 3 story jump up to the creaky balcony in front of her shoebox apartment. 

It hadn’t been until she started training with Tsunade that she started to remember her own competence. The stupid part was, a growing minority of her conscience didn’t want to be relegated to the position of medic, or even field medic. It wasn’t that she didn’t admire her Shishou, in fact, she loved her and respected her as the first female role model she’d ever had, the one who first made her believe. The problem was, Tsunade-shisou was the first person to, she admitted frankly to herself, train her in anything at all. In doing so, Sakura had discovered within her deepest self an ambition, a desperate need to prove herself, that was no longer satisfied with the idea of being a medic. Tsunade had been the first great field mednin, and was, in Sakura’s opinion (and she had done the research to back it up) one of about three recognizably famous kunoichi in all of shinobi history. The other two being Uzumaki (Senju) Mito and Terumi Mei- the current Mizukage. And Mito (the first nine tails jinchuuriki!) was largely famous only as a footnote in Hashirama’s legend. 

Sakura had spent a few of the nights where she wasn’t exhausted or studying complicated medical scrolls, doing what she privately called her ‘kunoichi research’. She’d even nabbed a misplaced bingo book off the mission desk when the on-duty chuunin wasn’t looking. Of the 61 cold eyed missing nin featured throughout the book, 11 were kunoichi, 7 of whom were B-rank, and 4 were A-rank. Not a single S-rank ‘flee on sight’ kunoichi. Sakura wasn’t exactly an advocate for missing nin, but it kind of bothered her that they’re were so few dangerous kunoichi out in the world. 

That was partly why she was coming to feel that medic was not the path for her. There were so few recognized great kunoichi, that Sakura felt she would be complacent if she simply became a carbon copy of her shisou. And, even though she still hated that she thought of their opinions, she knew that her boys would never recognize her strength if she were a medic. It didn't matter if she was the strongest healer in the whole shinobi world. Sure, they would probably make use of her expertise, but they would never see it as real power, they just didn’t see strength that way. She dreamed of beating them in a fight, shrugging off their excuses, and then beating them again fair and square. As Sakura had learned, so, so, so, many times observing Sasuke-kun and Naruto, the only language that ever reached through to them was a good beatdown. If she could do that…..

They had prioritized their own training over their team (despite Sensei’s stupid lesson), and she would do the same. Then she would take up space too. The whole ninja world would have to look at her. They would not turn their backs, even if they wanted to, because if they turned their backs, they would be exposing themselves to her attack.

Sakura went to sleep early that night, and as she fell asleep, she imagined her own greatness.


	2. Step One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so excited to get as many responses as I did, so I busted out another chapter haha. Thank you to everyone who commented and left kudos-- I find it incredible that anyone would want to read something I've written tbh.
> 
> Anyways, actual events begin in this chapter, and I hope it reads plausibly. Sakura was done about 1 million injustices in canon, so I'm trying to walk the line between treating her right and staying true to the essence of her character. I'm also aiming to write longer chapters as the story goes, but am working up to it at the moment.
> 
> Also let me know in the comments if you have an opinion about pairings for this story... I am (against my better nature) a sasusaku fan, but I'm not sure that it's the correct vibe for this story.

Before the sun had considered rising, Sakura was dressing for a run. One of the first things that Tsunade-sama had eviscerated her for in the early days of their training was her embarrassing lack of stamina. It hadn’t really been a revelation for Sakura who had spent a majority of Team 7 meetings counting explosive tags, reading about chakra theory, and admiring Sasuke-kun as he sparred with Naruto. (His form was legendary! Also Kakashi-sensei read porn in public, but somehow Sakura was a criminal for having teenage hormones and checking out a boy her age.). 

Tsunade-shishou’s initial conditioning had been brutal for Sakura, but out of all of it, she’d come to secretly love the clear solitude of a morning run. So, even after the initial training regime ended, she persisted with the habit.

Jogging laps of Konoha was a bit boring, but it was a good time to think. As she ran through the gate, she gave a half-hearted wave to Izumo and Koetetsu on gate duty, who blinked back blearily. 

When she began her first lap, she got to thinking about the rut she had been stuck in lately. She’d spent the last twoish years coming to terms with her own ambition, longing for her teammates and resenting them simultaneously, and recently realizing that she wanted to be more than a medic-- more than just ‘nurturing, sweet, innocent, Sakura.’. (She was a shinobi, Shannaro! Not delicate Sakura-hime from a Samurai legend). 

The problem was, she wasn’t really sure how she could go about getting more powerful. All the strongest shinobi she knew had a clan, a kekkei genkai, (both), or were Naruto and the literal vessel for the Kyuubi. The catalogue of Sakura’s skills felt like it was limited to her excellent chakra control. Although she did suspect that her intelligence was superior to every rookie except maybe Shikamaru. 

Her train of thought veered off as she was overcome with a wave of bitterness. Shikamaru’s jounin sensei treated his strategic mind as an asset to his team, a skill that could (and should) be honed. On her team, Kakashi-sensei had alternated between patronizing her intelligence and using her to explain things to the boys that he was too lazy to teach himself. 

For a moment, she just wanted to stop running and scream. Sakura understood fundamentally that it was unproductive to harbour such resentment, but some days she felt like the whole shinobi system had been rigged against her. Like all the important skills were being gate-kept from her, and all her senseis were expecting her to fail, and that when she did, they would just shake their heads and say that they knew all along she wasn’t cut out for the shinobi life, and then they would move on without a thought, as if they weren’t the ones who cut her legs off in the first place.

Wiping the sweat from her eyes with the edge of her mesh long-sleeve, Sakura made an effort to exhale the frustration roiling inside her. She could and she would turn these feelings into something productive. That was why she needed a plan, that was why she was going to become strong. 

She went back to her mental catalogue of skills, trying to think of any other useful attribute at her disposal. She wasn’t quite done with her training with Tsunade, but she was a fairly competent medic at this point, she knew her chakra natures (earth and water), and she sort of remembered Kakashi-sensei mentioning that she was genjutsu type. But how did she take all of it and make a skill of legendary proportions? 

She had all the pieces, but she didn’t know how to make them fit yet. In between the gasping breaths of her final lap, Sakura concluded that she needed inspiration.  
She had been meaning to speak with Tsunade-sama about her future anyways, so maybe she could ask her for help too? She usually struggled when it came to telling people what she wanted, or asking for favors, or doing anything that could possibly be construed as being a burden to someone. But she had begged to get into the apprenticeship with Tsunade-sama, so she had to take accountability for getting out of it. And if she was going to go through all that stress, she might as well ask about potential techniques. The Senju clan was old, and Tsunade undoubtedly knew more than what Sakura could find in the Chuunin-clearance section of the library.  
Finishing up her final lap, she ran back through the gate, not bothering to wave at the dozing chuunin. She finished her run with a painful sprint through the dusty streets. Judging by the position of the early morning sunshine, (just beginning to kiss the Konoha rooftops) she had made good time, and she felt a little lighter- just as she did every time she saw herself improve.  
\--------------------------  
Depending on the severity of Tsunade’s flirtation with alcoholism on any given day, Sakura’s training began between 8:30 and 10am in the morning. Most of the time, she showed up at 9 and hoped for the best. 

That morning, she walked into the Hokage tower at 8:30, fresh from a shower and nutritionally balanced breakfast, dressed in her newest kunoichi spandex, and holding onto a nervous resolve. After today, mednin Sakura would no longer exist.

She knew that Shizune-senpai was in charge of overseeing morning rounds in the hospital, so now was her chance to talk to Tsunade-sama alone. (Anbu guards notwithstanding) 

Her palms were sweating. She swung the door open with aggressive enthusiasm, and it banged jarringly against the wall, making the room shudder and jolting her shishou from what Sakura presumed was a hungover nap. 

“Tsunade-sama..” she began, going for the more reverential honorific, trying to butter her up a little.  
“....Sakura” Tsunade groaned out, rubbing her face foggily. She must have been exhausted, but she looked as immaculate and youthful (yosh!) as ever.

“Tsunade-sama” she began again, and then paused. She was finding it difficult not to gasp for air. 

Tsunade was apparently clear-headed enough to level a glare in Sakura’s direction.

“Out with it!”

Sakura had mentally thought through a flowery introduction detailing her reverence and respect for Tsunade, followed by her personal dedication to the Will of Fire, but under the sharp-eyed scrutiny of her mentor she found herself bowing deeply and then blurting it out all at once.

“I can’t continue my apprenticeship with you, Tsunade-sama…” Glancing up to register the calculating surprise on her mentor’s face, she rushed to explain.

“I don’t think being a medic is the right path for me, and I haven’t been sure for a while, but I think I know now that I want to be a frontline fighter. I'm never going to be happy on the sidelines, and I won't be left behind again. It’s the only way I can prove myself as a Kunoichi, Shannaro!” Tsunade looked ready to speak, but Sakura had more to say.

“ This does not change how much I respect you Tsunade-sama! I will never forget what I have learned in your care, and how much I appreciate the time you have taken to teach me. I am in your debt, and I am hopeful that Ino-chan or Tenten-san will be able to carry on your legacy…...” As Sakura trailed off, Tsunade gave a long sigh

“.... Sakura…….” She seemed to think for a long moment. “Sakura, while I do wish you could have come to me with this sooner, I won’t stop you from following a different path if that’s what you really choose.”

“However…” She tapped her chin with a glossy red fingernail. 

“…. as one of my most promising apprentices, I would ask you to take a week to consider seriously. You will be excused from all hospital duties, and free to pursue training on your own. We will meet again in 7 days, and I will hear your decision then.”

Sakura stood up and then bowed again in her gratitude,

“Thank you Hokage-sama!”

“Don’t Hokage-sama me, Sakura, and don’t thank me yet either.” Tsunade’s expression shifted a degree closer to absolute seriousness 

“You and I both know, if you truly choose this path, you have to find the way on your own.” 

If it were anyone else, Sakura might have construed Tsunade’s words as a threat. But she was aware of her mentor’s long history with both loss and solitude, and could see the empathy hiding behind her declaration. If Sakura made this choice, she would be without a team, without a sensei, a 15 year old chuunin alone in a village famous for its teamwork. 

But Sakura hadn’t chosen to be abandoned by her team, and begging Tsunade-sama for an apprenticeship hadn’t felt like much of a choice either. (Abandon all hope of a shinobi career or beg for the only sensei available to her.) She was finally making a choice of her own now. The choice to shape her fate by her own terms, to discover what her will of fire burned for. 

She gave her shishou a solemn nod.

“Then we’re understood. Treat this as you would a mission.” As soon as the words left her mentor’s mouth, all seriousness melted from her expression. 

“Alright,” she barked “now, who do I have to screw around here to get a drink?”

Sakura had been planning to ask for training advice, but she felt like the moment was gone. Blushing lightly at her (former) mentor's forthrightness, she resolved to mention it when they met to discuss her final choice.  
\------------------------------

It was still morning when Sakura stepped out of the Hokage tower. She took in a breath of cool air, and felt, quite suddenly, as if the whole world lay glittering below her feet. 

With no obligation to head to the hospital, Sakura found herself wandering in the direction of the training grounds. It was going to be a glorious day, and frankly, her taijutsu still needed work.


	3. Roots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little fighting and a little resolution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is almost double the length of the earlier two, so I'm feeling pretty good about it.
> 
> Once again, I'm hyped about everyone who responded. Based on both comments and my own personal preference, I am leaning itasaku for the eventual pairing. However, romance is still pretty far in the distance tbh. I really want to focus on Sakura's development atm. 
> 
> Once again, please let me know what you think. I read everyones comments like 12 times when I'm thinking about my next chapters.

Eating dirt while Lee ground his knee into her back, Sakura thought she might have spoken too soon. 

She had breezed into training ground 6, floating on the enthusiasm of her productive morning, feeling like the pathway to her plans was clearing right in front of her eyes. It was incredible how much better she felt, how much happier, when she had a plan to focus on. 

Training ground 6 was densely forested but marked by a dusty clearing in the center. For Sakura, this had the double benefit of creating privacy, and providing plenty of trees for her to uproot when in the mood to test her strength. (The head of the chuunin crew from the Training Grounds and Shinobi Development department was threatening to start charging her for each damaged branch.) 

The forested nature of the training ground also meant that Sakura hadn’t heard the shouting until it was too late. 

It began as a muffled screech. She wondered if birds had mating seasons, and if she had accidentally found herself in the midst of one. As the sound got closer, she could almost extricate individual words. …. Oh wait, she recognized that voice,

“ _ Sakura-san.  _ Sakura-san! SAKURA SAN! SAAAAAKUUURAAAA-SANNNN!!!!!” Spinning, Sakura was greeted by a joyous tsunami of youthfulness. Ducking under arms stretched wide for a hug (she valued her ribs intact, thank you very much), She came eye to eye with the Rookie 9’s resident Beautiful Green Beast, Rock Lee. 

“Good morning, Lee-kun.” She said in her very-calm-and-rational-but-still-friendly-and-warm voice. Privately, she felt he benefited from a reasonable role model from time to time. Although she supposed he  _ was _ on a team with Tenten and Neji. Hmmmm, but Gai-sensei more than canceled out their calming influence. She stood by her theory. 

“Sakura-san! How youthful to see you! Is it possible a blossom such as yourself is also here for training?”

She was tempted to deny it, but Lee was a prodigious taijutsu fighter, and she could really stand to learn some of his skill. Plus, Sakura had never sparred with him before. It could be an interesting opportunity to judge how the fruits of her apprenticeship with Tsunade held up under pressure.

That, and she was already in the middle of the training field, so might as well.

“Hai, Lee-kun. Were you aiming to train here as well?”... Then before she could question her choice, 

“ Do you want to spar with me?” It hurt her womanly pride just a little bit, to be the one begging a spar from Lee, but she was determined to stand by her resolve to improve. Anyways, she couldn’t imagine him refusing. She couldn’t imagine him refusing, and yet, her hands couldn’t stop nervously straightening and tightening her pristine arm wraps. An image of Sasuke-kun crossing his arms with a ‘hn’ and turning away flashed jarringly in her mind.

“Yosh Sakura-san! We can engage in a combat of youth!” Lee concluded, two glistening streams of tears punctuating his enthusiasm. 

Exhaling a quiet relief, Sakura allowed a spark of Lee’s excitement to catch in her chest. She could do this, Shannaro! 

\------------------------

After shedding a layer, stretching, and performing warm up katas, Sakura faced off with Lee in the center of the clearing. 

Cataloging his stance, Sakura analyzed what she knew about Lee’s style. The Strong Fist technique relied on powerful hits (obviously) and sharp transitions between forms. At its most effective, it overwhelmed and unbalanced opponents by hitting them fast and hard. 

The taijutsu that Tsunade had mercilessly beat into Sakura was based primarily on light footed evasion interspersed with hits that relied on explosive strength. Between the two styles, Sakura’s frontline mednin technique was focused defensively and Lee’s Strong Fist relied on offensive pressure. 

She concluded that her best chance of holding on depended on her ability to evade. If Lee couldn’t connect with his hits, he might make a mistake, creating an opening for her to land a well placed punch. The spar was pure taijutsu (no chakra fists permitted), but she was confident in her ability to make a debilitating blow if she could get her fist to flesh. (the power behind a chakra infused fist was only as effective as the hit that guided it-- which was her polite mental way of saying:her hits were not lightweight). 

Before Sakura was done formulating her thoughts, Lee was already streaking across the clearing towards her. Her hands raised defensively. Even as she blocked, she was forced to duck under a blurring kick. Before Lee could move again, she executed a backflip. Sucked in a breath. Refocused. Where was he? She ducked another punch whistling through the air and kicked out. He bent around her kick and used her temporary imbalance as an opportunity to land a glancing hit on her arm. 

Being intellectually aware of Rock Lee’s speed was one thing, trying to defend against it, as Sakura was rapidly learning, was a whole different animal.

Trying to regain her momentum, Sakura launched a kick towards Lee’s stomach. In between blinks, he ducked her leg and was aiming a punch from behind. She twisted under his punch and swept her leg out towards his ankles. He melted into a lower form and snaked a bruising kick into her sternum. The air was smashed from her lungs. Her body skidded across the cracked dirt. She gasped for a long moment, then was back on her feet to dodge the follow up.

She ducked, flipped and struck with all the finesse that she possessed, and still, it was not enough. Lee’s strikes kept adding up, and it became harder and harder to defend. Sweat dripped into her eyes and down from her chin to settle in the dust. Her once pristine arm bandages showed dirt and blood, and every unsteady breath she took reminded her of her bruised ribs, arms, legs, back, shoulders, and chest.

Lee glittered with pristine efficiency. He still wore his leg weights. From the cheeriness of his expression, she could tell that he was going easy on her. (A serious Rock Lee was usually a sign to start running.) 

Every smile, every “Yosh Sakura-san!”, every thumbs-up made her vibrate with frustration and anger. With each hit, she could feel her forms getting sloppy, her punches erring wide, her feet stumbling behind her movements. How, how could she make him take her seriously? Why wasn’t she good enough? With all her hours of training, was this what her hard work amounted to? An embarrassing beatdown from weirdo Rock Lee?

For a sick moment, she felt chakra pooling in her fist. She wanted to hurt someone. She wanted to make the world bow to her frustration. But even as she swung her fist towards Lee’s chest, she let it disperse. He neatly deflected her blow before kicking her legs out from underneath her, pressing a knee into her back until she ate dirt.

Choking on dust and humiliation, Sakura spoke,

“I yield.”

The pressure on her back released immediately as Lee leapt to his feet. She laid quietly on the ground and scrunched her eyes closed. Before she rallied the will to stand, he held out a hand, and she was not quite a sore enough loser to reject the offer. When they faced each other, hands still clasped, Lee spoke in an uncharacteristically solemn tone,

“Sakura-san, a hero is not the one who never falls.” he paused and the clearing was quieter than a whisper. 

“He is the one who gets up again and again.”

It was such a stupidly Naruto-ish thing to say, Sakura felt a bit like crying. His words touched her in the place in her chest that hid most from the light. The part of her that yearned most to be seen and recognized. 

“Hai, Lee-kun. Thank you for sparring with me.” As she spoke, she looked him squarely in the eyes, and hoped he could see her gratefulness reflected. 

Then, she went calmly to gather her things. After thanking him once again, she left. Picking through the trees, she heard him declaring,

“I will complete 400 pushups! If I don’t complete 400 pushups I will do 600 sit ups! If I can’t do 600 sit ups I will run 30 laps of the Village! If I can’t run 30 laps of the Village, I will………”

\-------------------

On her way out of the training grounds, Sakura wondered at her own emotional disarray. Why had the spar made her so furiously angry, made her act so rashly? She  _ knew  _ (and had known going into the spar) that she would never be as good at Taijutsu as Lee was. Not even if she trained all day every day for the next five years. It wasn’t even something she was particularly focused on. So, why?

Trying to understand her own emotions , she thought back on their fight, pictured Lee’s speed, his execution, his joy, the ferocity of his hits. She honestly admired him. He inspired her. 

She was loath to admit it…. But she also envied him. Physically, she cringed to think it, he was so clownish, so unrepentantly weird, loud, uncool. But she also really respected that his skills were built on hard work alone, and he couldn’t even use chakra like she could. He couldn’t use chakra, and still he had never been weak. It was like Naruto. Even when he was deadlast, and not strong- he wasn’t  _ weak.  _ He had always had a goal, had always known his way, was always strong in his resolve. Maybe he couldn’t fight at first, but he (as long as she had known him) had always believed. In himself, in his abilities, in hard work and dedication. 

Ah, shannaro. If she was going to be honest in her own mind, it wasn’t even envy of Rock Lee that she was feeling, but shame of herself. Standing next to his joy and resolve, she felt her indecision, her weakness, her inability to protect her friends and team, so so clearly. 

\-----------------------

If there was one place in Konoha that belonged to Sakura, in the way that she loved it, and in it she felt happiest, it was the library. The shiny green linoleum floors, the heavy wooden bookcases, the sunlit pillars of dust motes in the air, all were familiar and precious to her. 

For these reasons, and because she was once again running from the feelings of inadequacy that chased her always, Sakura found herself turning in the direction of the library, in search of inspiration to break her from her solemnity. (Bad mood aside- she also really needed ideas to present to Tsunade-sama at the end of the week)

Cresting on a bodywide surge of hopelessness, she returned to a tome that always brought particular comfort.  _ Uzumaki Mito: Loving and Living in the Leaf.  _ Written by a popular romance novelist, the memoir was perhaps a little too involved in Hashirama and Mito’s relationship and focused heavily on a questionable dramatization of Mito’s first pregnancy. It also featured a variety of scenes involving Mito collapsing in teary confession and Hashirama responding with kind and dignified indulgence in the face of her romantic desperation. (When Tsunade had happened upon Sakura reading it on one occasion, she had laughed till the point of tears, wiped her eyes, and informed Sakura that she should “reverse the roles, then it’s practically non-fiction.”) Despite all of this, the book was well researched, and provided detailed insight into both Mito’s genius fuinjutsu capabilities and her battle prowess as the kyuubi jinchuuriki. It was the first book Sakura had ever read that described a kunoichi as one of the most powerful shinobi of a generation, and one of the only ones that described Mito-sama as more than Hashirama’s precious wife (with a footnote mentioning her as the first kyuubi jinchuuriki).

The romance was pretty cute too, regardless of what her previous mentor said about historical accuracy. 

She skimmed through one of the early fight scenes, (Subduing multiple enemy nin with her chakra chains, Mito took two kunai to the stomach- and Hashirama, unaware of the kyuubi’s increased healing capabilities went mad with panic- viciously annihilating the enemy nin- all described in epic detail!). Sakura was sucked into the descriptions of Hashirama’s battle prowess. 

Chewing on the stick of dango that she had bought at her favorite stall on her way from the training grounds, it occurred to Sakura that part of her problem so far was limiting her scope of fighting inspiration to kunoichi. If she could read more about Hashirama’s fighting style than Mito, in a book  _ about  _ Mito, it just showed what she already knew: that there was WAY more info about great male shinobi than great kunoichi. It logically followed that if she wanted to show strength in a world of male shinobi, she had to do it with the sort of power they understood-- the power of figures like Hashirama. 

After throwing away her now empty dango stick, Sakura (carefully) shoved  _ Living and Loving  _ back onto the shelf to her left, and scanned down the aisle. Upon seeing a gold embossed leather spine, Sakura snatched  _ Historical Figures of Konohagakure: Giants of the Leaf  _ off the shelf _.  _ Fingers scrabbling through the pages, her eyes ricocheted off of each name;  _ Namikaze, Sarutobi, Hyuuga, Uzumaki, Senju, Uchiha. _ Wait. Her mind zeroed in on one set of familiar characters and her thoughts caught onto divine inspiration. 

She had literally  _ just  _ been reading about him. Senju Hashirama. 千手柱間. Of all the great shinobi in the Land of Fire, her shishou’s grandfather was by far the most famous. His Mokuton jutsu was the topic of many frenetic discussions between the boys at the academy, and the questionable inspiration behind a game they played in the woods past the training field- which Sakura only knew about because it was banned after Kiba accidently drove a branch through Chouji’s leg.

To her knowledge, the Mokuton had never been replicated. She scanned the passage that had first caught her attention. Just as she remembered being taught at the academy, the book noted the Shodaime’s skill as a unique kekkei genkai. Still fresh from more than a year of medical training, Sakura privately doubted it. Kekkei genkai were genetic by nature. It seemed extremely dubious to her that Hashirama-sama would express the Mokuton trait, but no other member of his clan either before or after him would. It would be like if she manifested a sharingan. (It made no sense!) She flipped backwards to read the section on the Senju clan again just to check. There was not a single reference to the Mokuton, even though the Senju were given an entire chapter--except in conjunction with the Shodaime. 

Mokuton. It had to be close to the most famous jutsu of all time. Allegedly a combination of earth and water chakra natures (same as her own!). And if, as she suspected, it wasn’t actually a kekkei genkai, but rather a style that could be learned (perhaps requiring a certain aptitude and knowledge), then she would become the first Mokuton user since the Shodaime himself.

Out of her previous grayness, a swooping sensation bloomed in her stomach. She was intoxicated by the boldness of it all. Haruno Sakura, civilian born deadweight of Konoha’s Team 7, mastering the first Hokage’s jutsu. 

But even as her own audacity shocked and pleased her in equal parts, a dampening sense of reality descended back on her mind. 

Like a scab she picked at too often, the bloody ooze of Sakura’s problems always came back to the same wounds.  _ IF  _ she was miraculously hypothetically capable of executing the Mokuton jutsu, she was going to need to know, to a certain extent, how the jutsu functioned. To know that, she would need access to records that she simply did not have the clearance for. OR, had she been in a clan, her family would probably have a library with exactly this kind of information.

She rubbed her expansive forehead. Leaned her head against a wooden shelf. Tried to let go of the frustration that had been dogging her ever since the spar.

Her pessimism wasn’t helping her achieve her goals. She could just hear her shishou reminding her to focus on the parts of her life that she  _ could _ control . And all faults aside, that woman got shit done.

Newly resolved, Sakura’s sharp eyes began tracking the titles on the shelf in front of her. It would only take one scrap of information to bring her closer to unlocking the Mokuton. She wouldn’t give up on the library quite yet.

\------------------------------

She was giving up on the library. There was nothing useful in the jutsu aisle, nor in the history aisle, nor in the administrative records, not in the sparse fiction section, not in the covertly placed erotica shelf, she’d even checked the genjutsu section (which contained a crusty academy genjutsu record book that definitely should not have been there-- it marked Uchiha Itachi and Orochimaru as the two highest scoring genjutsu types to ever test in academy history. Yikes!) 

The search was doing her no good. There had to be another way-- she concluded that she ought to sleep on it. After shelving the enormous stack of tomes she had been dissecting, her feet pointed themselves back in the direction of her apartment.

Even as she walked, she used the time, as she so often did, to think. To watch the shadows, just as she had the night before, when she had decided on her resolve to change, to become someone to fear.

It was already dark, well into late evening. She found it hard to imagine that just that morning she had quit her apprenticeship to the greatest medical ninja of all time. 

She had quit her apprenticeship, but she had also found a spark of inspiration to cling to. Something for her mind to knaw on. The Mokuton.

Already the implications grew roots in her consciousness. If she watered it, it was sure to grow. Where there were roots, there might soon be branches.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The reason Sakura thinks that she would be the only mokuton user is because she doesn't know Yamato exists yet.   
> Also, the reason that Lee absolutely kicks her ass is because she's only been training with Tsunade for less than 2 years, and it's a pure Taijutsu fight- there's no way she could realistically win it. 
> 
> Also, the fact that the mokuton is supposed to be a Kekkei Genkai makes literally no sense to me, so I decided to change it. 
> 
> And, if you notice me messing up the use of honorifics at any point, feel free to correct. I am literally making it up as I go. (with research)


	4. Theft

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, it's been like two months, mostly because I've been trying not to fail college, but this is my longest chapter yet, and also my favorite so far. So, I hope you enjoy it!  
> Please let me know your thoughts/ theories.

Sakura hauled ass out of the abandoned Uchiha district, frantically trying to distance herself from the horrifying alarm blaring behind her. In between gasping breaths, she alternated between blind panic and a visceral need to cover her ears. Unfortunately, her hands were noticeably occupied with scrolls she had just pilfered from the Uchiha archives.

Whoops.

Mid sprint, Sakura dropped between shingled roofs and into a quiet alleyway. Stowing the scrolls in a bag behind a particularly crusty dumpster, she straightened her clothes, shed her hood, and strode out of the darkness and into the still bustling civilian district. 

As the mania drained from her system, a shameful fear arose to replace it. What had she been thinking? Only five days gone and she’d fallen from Hokage’s star apprentice to heritage theft.

Honestly, like many occurrences Sakura imagined to be Uchiha related, it had all started with a fan. Ino’s stupid, purple, fan.

……………………………………...

In a moment of weakness, Sakura had sought her best frenemy out for lunch. Four days since her mokuton revelation, and she was growing more restless by the hour- in only two days she had to reaffirm her resolve to quit her apprenticeship in front of Tsunade-sama. And for some reason, the meeting with her former mentor had become an absolute deadline in her mind. She felt that if she couldn’t come close to learning anything relevant about the mokuton in a week, then she would be better served by returning (shamed) to her apprenticeship.

Her ambition was to grasp a hold of her own destiny, but she was also pragmatic, and knew it would be incredibly foolish to quit an apprenticeship with the Hokage without a strong alternative. To do so would be equivalent to resigning her future to a bureaucratic chunin desk duty nightmare. 

Unfortunately, the mokuton situation was not looking up. She had spent the week alternating between strength training and searching the entire library (the part she had access to) top to bottom, which she achieved thrice, with not a single lead to show for it. The experience only served to bring her closer to despair. Hence, the need for a forceful distraction.

Enter Ino, who was, at the moment Sakura found her, sprawled gloriously across a window seat in the library, looking unabashedly like a sun-drenched gift from the  _ kami.  _ There was a conspicuously closed medical text to her left. One of her long fingered hands shaded her eyes, and the other was occupied fanning her glowing complexion with an absurdly extravagant purple and gold apparatus. 

“Pig!” Sakura called, half in awe, half in annoyance at the languorous majesty before her. 

“Is that a Forehead I see? Coming to visit her better looking rival at last?” Ino called back, her tone both theatrical and devious. 

Their friendship vibes were complicated on a good day, in the way that only female best friends/rivals can be. At least, that’s how Sakura justified the happiness she felt bubbling inside at Ino’s typical antagonistic snarking.

In fact, and as she remembered, it brought a smile to her face, Naruto had once asked her why she hated Ino so much. She had laughed at his uncharacteristically serious expression and tried to explain that  _ yes  _ she called Ino an ‘ugly farm animal’ to her face on a weekly basis,  _ yes  _ Ino was her love and kunoichi rival,  _ yes  _ Ino had described her as ‘flat as a billboard from her forehead to her toes’, and while  _ yes  _ she had cried in front of the whole class when Ino beat her on a written test in their last year at the academy, they would legitimately die for eachother. Boys just didn’t understand. 

If Sasuke and Naruto could only ever express their friendship through fighting and yelling, Sakura and Ino spoke their friendship to each other in a thousand small ways over the years, even when they were official rivals. Outside of their general snarkiness, there was hair braiding, flower giving, touches, sneaky smiles, in depth analysis of Sasuke’s potential sexual prowess, training together, debating the merits of various poisons, watching dramas on TV, speaking in the language of looks ™ , and laying in the backroom behind the Yamanaka flower shop and dreaming of being the strongest, most beautiful, most clever kunoichi. 

“Hey! Forehead! Helloooooo? Are you even listening to me?” Realizing she had zoned out in the middle of an Ino rant, Sakura jerked to attention.

“Sorry Pig, I got distracted by that gross fan.”

“Ew, Sakura! You’re not getting paid to be jealous.” Ino punctuated this statement by aggressively waving said fan in her direction.

“I’m not getting paid to look at your ugly face either.”

Ino laughed. (Very beautifully)

“Good one. Now why are you really here?”

Sakura hunched into herself and leaned forward so her hair was covering her eyes. Pressing her pointer fingers together in what was, admittedly, a bit of a mockery of Hinata, she mumble-whispered:

“A....ano, Ino-chan, would you…. Ah….. would you… ah  _ pleasecomegetlunchwithme.”  _

Straightening up, she looked to catch Ino’s reaction. Ino cackled and proceeded to mock wipe tears off her face. Abruptly, she jumped to her feet, and standing quite stiffly she assumed an expression of great seriousness. Levelling what was clearly supposed to be a burning glare at Sakura, she grunted out a singular

“Hn.”

The both collapsed into giggles. Nothing like a little self and Sasuke mockery. (and sometimes it made her feel better to joke about the things that hurt.) 

As their giggling trailed off, Ino deliberately pushed her medical text to the side, snatched up the (heinous) fan, and linked arms with Sakura. They left the library in joyous complicity

************************************

Over steaming bowls of Ramen, (after more than a year of Naruto’s absence, she had come around to a nostalgic appreciation of the food), Sakura and Ino caught up. The conversation was so easy that, overcome with fondness, Sakura decided to confess some of her current strife to Ino. (Deliberately excluding the mokuton detail).

“YOU QUIT YOUR APPRENTICESHIP?”

“Shhhhhh, keep your voice down, Pig!”

“What were you thinking?? Kuniochi across the world would have killed for that chance.” Ino’s eyes betrayed a hint of flintiness. 

Sakura raised her hands in a placating gesture as a kernel of shame popped in her stomach. It hadn’t occurred to her when she made the choice, but she wasn’t really the only kunoichi in the world being left behind by “teammates”. In Ino’s eyes, giving up her apprenticeship with the Tsunade-sama probably seemed like the height of entitlement.

“It’s not like that Ino! I couldn’t continue my training with Tsunade-sama anymore.. I-”

“You just  _ couldn’t  _ continue your training with the Hokage, Sannin, greatest-mednin-in-the-world  _ Senju  _ Tsunade-hime herself…”

“That is not fair, and you know it.” Sakura said, now with a glare to match “I’m not stopping you or anyone from training with her, shannaro! Being a medic isn’t what I want, and I can’t change that. I wouldn’t do ‘ _ Senju Tsunade-hime’ _ such a disservice as to waste her time or training because of my own lack of interest!” 

“Maaaa, Sakura-chan , you always get so uppity when you’re embarrassed” Ino drawled, causing Sakura to abruptly leap off her stool. 

“Imitating Kakashi-sensei… that’s low of you. You know, I don’t know why I said anything. Everything I do is to be a better shinobi. I’ve worked hard for every skill I have! I _begged_ for Tsunade-sama’s help, I don’t have any stupid clan priviledges or a kekkei-genkai. How can you act like I’m the entitled one here?? …………………” She huffed in frustration “I just thought you would understand.”

Sakura could see the moment Ino’s anger and jealousy lost its bite. Her moods tended to come and go with all the ferocity and permanence of summer rain season, and as she ran a hand through her silky ponytail, the sunshine broke through the clouds again.

“ Shit Forehead, I know. That was a little bitchy of me” Punctuated by an Wink (™)

“Ehh, it doesn’t matter, you hate Kakashi-sensei almost as much as I do, and that’s the only bit that I was mad about.”

“Keh! A crusty old man if there ever was one.” 

“Ok, ok, but back to the point.” Sakura sat back down on her stool, grabbed Ino’s wrist and gave it a little shake. ‘I quit my apprenticeship and I kind of don’t know what to do about my training!!!” 

Ino rolled her eyes, and chewed her ramen thoughtfully

“For a ballistics genius, Forehead, you suck at planning… Have you checked the library yet?” 

“Don’t test me Pig! Of course I checked the library. I couldn’t find anything useful. Honestly, I was wondering if I could take a look in the Yamanaka Clan one… You’re the only clan member I know well eno----” 

“ ---I love you, but there’s no way.  _ I’m  _ not even allowed in there, and my dad would wipe my mind til’ I was eating drool if I tried to sneak you in. Plus, as far I know, all the important scrolls we have are about our Mind-Transfer Jutsu.” 

Laying her head down on the Ichiraku counter, Sakura let out a gurgling moan. Ino ignored her patheticness and soldiered on,

“Honestly Sakura, I wouldn’t rely on searching a clan library if you’re trying to get stronger. Most clans alive in our village today guard their secrets closer than their own children, and they have no love for nosy civilians.”

“Hai, I knowwwwww.” Sakura groaned again.

Ino smacked her on her head with her gilded fan, and then again on the nose when she sat up straight. 

“That’s enough of that. Your negativity is making me break out. Let’s talk about something more fun. Hmmm... I know! I’ve been thinking about a certain Jounin lately!” Sakura moaned in mock agony. Ino soldiered on

“ I mean, have you seen Genma-san! He just seems so experienced- in a sexy mature way. The way he chews his senbon, ooof! Talk about an oral fixation.” She flicked her fan open and gave it a few flaps to emphasize the practiced flush on her cheeks. 

Sakura couldn’t help but appreciate Ino’s devilish capabilities. Not only was she masterful at controlling the direction of a conversation, but she had a way of talking about men that felt wonderfully scandalous. Tension from moments before forgotten, Sakura couldn’t help but responding,

“Ew Inoooo. He’s like 45!” 

As Ino fell into an involved tangent about Genma-san’s raw sexual energy, Sakura was once again distracted by the fan she was using to punctuate every sentence. There was just something about it that was bothering her. A sentence from their earlier conversation came slithering back into her conscience

_ Most clans alive in our village today guard their secrets closer than their own children _

_ Most clans alive in our village today _

_ Most clans alive… alive!...... Alive! _

There was one Konoha clan that was noticeably not alive in the village, but whose ghosts still haunted the empty streets of their abandoned district. She focused on Ino’s fan again, but this time, in her mind’s eye, she saw another one--proud in white and red.  _ Uchiha.  _

A clan that had been linked with the Senju since the founding of the village. A clan whose legendary leader was extremely familiar with Hashirama-- that is, if founding the village together meant anything. In  _ Loving and Living  _ there were even implications of an illicit affair between Uchiha Madara and the Shodaime, but that was probably just artistic license. 

For the second time that lunch, Sakura leapt to her feet.

“Forehead! Whaa-”

“So sorry Ino! I just had an idea!” She slapped ryo on the counter and made a break for it.

There were flowers to buy and a robbery to plan.

\-------------------------------------------------------

Under the gates like an evening wraith, a cloaked Sakura slipped into the Uchiha district. In her right hand, she clutched a bouquet of flowers, in her left, a small knapsack. The silence, the dust, the diminished buildings immediately threatened to overwhelm her with the echoing footprints of tragedy. The Massacre was hardly talked about these days in Konoha, but Sakura could feel the magnitude of the horror all around her, a senseless whisper through the quiet streets. 

_ There was no justification in the world that could right the wrongs that Sasuke-kun’s brother had committed on that night. _

She ruminated, and took cautious steps in the direction of the main house. With every move into the oppressive silence, Sakura wondered how Sasuke was even as sane as he was. Sure he was a missing-nin training under Orochimaru- evil sannin etc- but there had been 4 years between the massacre and his desertion where he had been a mostly functional member of Konoha shinobi society.

Tsunade’s training regime had involved many dry medical texts on a variety of subjects, including a lengthy tome on the psychological aspects of human development. (Because of her alleged genjutsu type status, shishou had mentioned that it might come in handy). From what her excellent mind recalled from that particularly illuminating text was, the combined factors of Sasuke’s age at the time of trauma, the brutal elimination of his entire support system, and the complete lack of therapy/help that he received after the murder of his  _ entire family  _ by the  _ most _ beloved person in his life, his development was damaged beyond seriously. That he had been functional at the academy and somewhat during their genin year was……

It was miraculous, she thought with the echo-ache in her chest.  _ Oh how she wished she could have helped Sasuke-kun.  _ It was the same with Naruto sometimes too, and since she was in a sentimental mood, Kakashi-sensei as well. Her on one side, and them on the other, a deep valley of suffering between them. What a strange world it was, that she wished she could atone for her innocence, for her lack of pain. In weak moments even wished that a tragic event might happen to her too, make her seen.

Ah, but it was just the melancholy of the twilight getting to her. Lonely muffled footsteps, quiet alleys, seep into her consciousness. 

She clutched the flowers in her grasp more tightly, though still careful not to break the stems. It was a bit of an odd bouquet- the yellow daffodil contrasting the periwinkle aster too much to be aesthetically perfect, but the bluebells and the white anemone delicate enough to form a certain cohesion. Respect, remembrance, gratefulness, and sincerity. She felt she owed it to Sasuke’s family, and hoped they would forgive her trespass. 

If she learned anything at all from her snooping, she vowed to honor them properly.

At last, The main house loomed dark and heavy before her, stilling her somber mind’s resolutions. She suspected it had once been a proud building but now it was heavy lidded, monstrous. With a hesitant sandaled foot, she stepped up onto the engawa. It creaked but did not give. Before sliding the door open, she knelt and used her sleeve to rub the moss off of the once pristine pine, clearing a section in which she laid the small bouquet. 

_ I remember. _

\------------------------------

Time to take the plunge. Slide open the door. Into the empty, empty, empty dark. Now, emotions stifled (miraculously), her analytic brain grabbed the reins. If she were the member of a dignified and secretive clan, where would she hide the incriminating scrolls?

Perhaps in a basement? She would need to check under the tatami as well. The sun was still setting, so it would be another two hours before the streets properly emptied out, which coincided with the evening ANBU shift change, so she was still right on time. Two hours was enough, she hoped, to search the sprawling house thoroughly. A systematic approach appealed to her nature, so she was planning on working her way through the house from top to bottom. 

Sakura crept through the dark hallways with all the secrecy of her ninja training. There was nothing relevant on the top floor, only a beautiful black kimono shrouded in dust, and a ragged stuffed dinosaur- she took special care to avoid touching both. The second floor was little better. 

It wasn’t until she was checking the tatami on the ground floor that she found it. A hinged panel set under the mat. The obviousness of it was a bit baffling, but she supposed not many non Uchiha Clan members ever got far enough into the building to look for such a thing. 

The door creaked and threw a flurry of dust into the air when she pried it open. The blackness that yawned beneath made the gloomy house feel bright in comparison. Sakura’s resolve wavered. She felt her trespass very keenly, imagined she could see glowing sharingan eyes passing judgement from the dark. 

But she had taken it this far, already broken into the clan district, already wasted an hour of her time searching. She breathed deep, the trapdoor was just another obstacle.

There was a ladder down, and it thankfully wasn’t more than 15 rungs. She could have jumped with ease, but the darkness was impenetrable and her insides were squirming with apprehension the whole way down. When her feet made contact with the packed dirt floor, she pulled a flashlight from the knapsack she had been clutching in her teeth. (Thank  _ kami  _ she was a capable planner). And as the room was bisected by light, it became clear why the trapdoor was so embarrassingly obvious. The room was small, musty, and utterly barren. The sole point of interest was a faded  _ uchiwa  _ on one of the craggy walls. 

A prolonged noise of frustration escaped her. A hiss that would make Orochimaru proud. She felt close, close to a breakthrough, close to knowledge that could make her strong. Maybe even in the same room as it. Just another chapter in the story of her life;  _ Haruno Sakura: Pretty Close, but Not Quite Good Enough, Haruno Sakura: Can’t Do Anything For Herself.  _ Or maybe,  _ Haruno Sakura: Second or Third Most Important at Best to All of Her Precious People. ... _

Cha! But wasn’t this what she hated in herself? Whiny Sakura, crybaby Sakura, weak Sakura, jealous Sakura. She was perfectly smart and she knew it too, and this was a situation that required clearheadedness. Pressing a sweaty hand to her forehead, she put her thoughts into lockdown. There needed to be room for two things, and two things alone: problem and solution.

Problem. She was in a secret Uchiha underground room, searching for a hidden scroll library (or something?), and she couldn’t tell if she was missing something: a trick, an obvious clue, a key, something, something?

Solution. The Uchiha were secretive. They would not leave their private knowledge unguarded. They were very proud of their superior Doujutsu, which generally awarded them with heightened visual perception skills and ability to comprehend and reconstruct genjutsu, taijutsu, and ninjutsu. There was a known affinity between the sharingan and genjutsu.

Conclusion. She was a dumbass. Not checking the room for a genjutsu was an amatuer mistake. If Tsunade-sama could see her now. 

She gave her chakra flow a proper jolt. A door materialized to her left _.  _ She did another  _ Kai!  _ for good measure and the door disappeared and rematerialized over the faded  _ uchiwa  _ in front of her. Of course it wouldn’t be easy.

She flared her chakra again, and felt her mind be sucked in a vortex through a straw, almost puked. Flare! Suddenly she was upside-down and gravity was piledriving her into the dirt. Kai! Her skin was melting in steaming rivers like tea. Kai! Sasuke was reaching for her and his eyes cried blood. Kai! Kai! Kai! The shadows snatched at her ankles and they felt spindly like spider legs. Kai! The room reeked like rotten flesh. Kai! Naruto sharp-toothed red-eyed, Kakashi-Sensei masked and blank, Sasuke-kun crazy eyed and burning. They slit her throat and laughed and laughed and laughed. Blood saturated her clothes. 

She wept. Kai! Kai! Kai! Kai!

It took 21 genjutsus before the room stabilized. When it was over, she laid on the floor and stained the dirt with tears. Her fingers trembled. She was a proper fool this time- walked straight into an obvious trap. Only by virtue of a genjutsu affinity and once-in-a-generation chakra control had she made it through. Being familiar with Sasuke’s life story, she should have known the Uchiha were sadistic bastards, the type to anchor dozens of brutal genjutsu to a secret room. Not subtle genjutsu either. Chakra intensive, soul crushing ones. No attempt to hide the obviousness of the sensory alteration, but they fucked so hard with your mind that it didn’t matter. 

If only someone would resurrect the clan so she could murder them all again. 

Sakura got up onto her knees. Her chest was raw, her emotional hurts bleeding like fresh cuts. Her hands had scrabbled at her throat in fear, as the blood had slipped from her throat thick and salty as chicken stock. There were stinging scratches now. It had felt so  _ real. So real.  _

Using dirty hands to wipe tears from her eyes, Sakura tried to focus on her surroundings. The flashlight was still on, but lay some ways from where she crouched, evidently dropped in her panic. Crawling jerkily over to grasp it, she assessed the room once more. As irony would have it, the door that had appeared second, right over the faded  _ uchiwa,  _ had apparently been the correct one. Abstractly, she admired the cleverness. Only a clan member would know that the second layer of Genjutsu was actually the true door, if they even got caught in them at all. No smart intruder would fail to check for a third layer if they had already discovered two. 

From her knees, she climbed laboriously to her feet. Suffering through the proverbial genjutsu meat grinder only made her more desperate to find  _ anything.  _ Too exhausted to be jittery, Sakura walked up and swung open the door, but not before doing another precautionary  _ kai.  _

The skinny beam from her light illuminated a dusty but distinguished sort of room. To her incredulous satisfaction, the heavy wooden shelves lining the room were stuffed with scrolls. 

Drained as she was, an electric thrill shivered through her. She scanned the shelves with a practiced eye. In the back of her mind, her internal clock was warning her that time was running out. Moving swiftly towards the back, Sakura looked for the oldest scrolls. The closer she could get to Uchiha Madara’s time, the more likely she could get first hand information on the Shodaime’s mokuton. 

In the back corner, there was a shelf that appeared promising. It was stuffed with crusty and yellowing scrolls. She snagged one from the top. Unfortunately, that was where her last drops of luck went on extended leave. 

A foreboding vibration ran through the room. Sakura froze. There was a moment of dreadful anticipation. 

All at once, a shriek of horrifying volume consumed the area. With a detached sort of irony, she considered how unprepared she had been for this “robbery”. 

Frenetic panic dragged her limbs into action. With a snarl, she filled her arms with scrolls, and sprinted from the room. The door slammed behind her. Foregoing the rungs on the wall, Sakura sent a burst of chakra to her feet, and leapt up through the trapdoor. The house was echoing with the shrill cacophony. She set down the scrolls long enough to close the door and replace the tatami, to shove her flashlight back in the knapsack, and then secured said knapsack. 

Grabbing the scrolls again, Sakura fled as if the ghosts of murdered Uchiha themselves pursued her.

************************************

She made it back to her apartment. Her plan had been largely reliant on the evening ANBU shift change (Tsunade trusted her with paperwork probably more than she should), and the Uchiha district’s reputation as a haunted adventure for stupid thrill seeking teenagers. Still, it felt ludicrous that she had (so far) gotten away with it. 

In the morning she would retrieve the stolen scrolls from the back alley she had left them in. Then she would know the payoffs of her risk. For now, she would try to sleep off the stress.

  
When she closed her eyes, all she could see were Naruto’s sharp teeth, Sasuke’s eyes ( _ burning, burning),  _ and Kakashi-sensei’s face:  _ cold, cold, cold.  _


	5. The Thickens plots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why sakura isn't in jail for crimes against the Uchiha Clan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a labor of love. I hope you guy enjoy it.  
> Writing Sakura's family dynamic is probably why it took me so long to get this chapter out. How to stay true to the character but also add depth to a family life that received literally less than zero attention in the plot.  
> Thank you to all who commented on my last chapter. I do not have my life together so I did not respond. However I read every single comment and it mean very much to me. Thank you. pls enjoy.

Restless all through the night, Sakura’s struggle was ended in the morning by a practical knock on her apartment door. ‘

 _tap , tap, tap, tap._ Pause. _Tap tap tap..._

Even in the half-nightmare state between waking and dreaming, she recognized the metronomic qualities of the knock all too well. Leaning further into the suffocation of her pillow, Sakura wallowed. It seemed her Kaa-san’s propensity towards unfortunate timing had not dulled with age.

During her first, disastrous Chuunin exam, Shikamaru had once told Sakura that she was a “A kunoichi of no particular talent”. His words had stuck particularly in her mind, mostly because they perfectly encapsulated how she felt about her own mother. A woman of no particular talent. Clean, ordinary, practical, pedantic, weak. Weak. 

It wasn’t that they didn’t get along. Oh, they got along. But love isn’t the same as obedience, as resignment.

Her Kaa-san came from a line of moderately successful textile merchants, and she wasn’t the sort with imagination enough to dream of a different life. Upon marriage, the newly-wed Harunos had, with a low-interest loan (Many hidden villages offered financial incentives for civilian businesses, as a counter to the imminent risk of death.) opened up a small textile and craft shop, on a side street in the bustling civilian shopping district. Over the years, her parents became entrenched in the ordinariness of it all, until they seemed, to Sakura, indistinguishable from the landscape. 

_Tap tap tap tap._ Pause. _Tap tap tap tap._ Pause...

She rolled out of bed and snatched a navy long sleeve from it’s crusty residence on the floor. Her mouth caught at the edges of a sly smile. Dragging the knit overhead, she was pleased to discover a day-old rankness permeating the fabric. In the reflection of her bedroom window, Sakura glimpsed her dishevelment. 

_Tap tap tap tap._ Pause. _Tap tap tap tap._ Pause. _Tap tap tap..._

She turned to glare at the door. Even with her crusted and puffy eyes, it wasn’t quite audacious enough. With thoughtful deliberation, she licked her palm and then reached up and violently ruffled her pink halo of bedhead. 

It was only about 12 strides from her bedroom, through the kitchen/living space, to the door. She strode them vengefully. Upon spanning the distance, she collected herself enough to open it with what she hoped to be a perfect air of deliberate casualness. 

Haruno Mebuki’s face was lined like the hospital sheet corners Sakura had learned early on in her apprenticeship. Crisp, straight, functional. But folded all the same. 

In the yawning seconds between Sakura grasping the handle and the door swinging to its fullest extent, She watched her mother take in her appearance, watched the wrinkles crease and shrivel into deeper lines, and then watched a deliberately mild expression overtake her displeasure like a thumb dragging over warm wax. 

Knowing her first blow had struck, Sakura leaned in to press the advantage. Literally. Using a shrill tone of voice, unintentionally perfected during her fangirl days, she trilled,

“Kaaa-san!!”

and smothered her mother in an embrace, trying to press her into the rancid long sleeve. A perfectionist almost to the point of violence, her mother couldn’t stop a sharp nose wrinkle of disgust from crossing her features, and Sakura counted that as another point in her favor. 

Holding onto the embrace for at least 5 seconds longer than was remotely comfortable or proper, Sakura finally pulled away. But before she could press further, her mother spoke,

“Sakura-chan. How nice to see you this morning. Your father and I wanted to make sure everything was alright in your new apartment. I told him you would probably be training with your team in the morning, but... it seems I was mistaken.” She quirked her lips in an expression close to a smile. 

Sakura wasn’t sure if her Kaa-san was deliberately oblivious, or intentionally cruel, but she was unable to comprehend that Team 7 had been informally disbanded, and was dead to Sakura since the 5th time Kakashi had pretended not to hear her when she called him ‘Sensei!” on the street. So really, almost a year and a half now. 

It was probably deliberate obliviousness. Kaa-san wasn’t cruel. She made bentos and did laundry and sewed the holes Sakura wore into the knees of her leggings. When she was little she held her hand in the marketplace, and when she grew older at the dinner table she always asked about her day. The problem was… It was hard to say what the problem was.

Maybe it was that they just didn’t understand each other. Maybe it was because she saw her parents’ ordinariness and could not suppress the disdain and shame it awoke in her. How they never read books, the way they asked her questions but never listened when she spoke, how her mother didn’t look her in the eye- always peering a little above her head or to the right- as if she were an animal, or a ghost. 

When she was 7 and she dropped her pink mochi in the dust in front of Kanna-san’s stand in the market square, and she inexplicably burst into tears and dirtied her practical blue summer smock scrabbling for it in the dirt, her mother grasped her wrist in long bony fingers and dragged her back home, even though she was too old for such manhandling. She did not raise her voice, and she never raised a hand. But the iron grip of her fingers, the disgust, and the humiliation, writ deep in the lines around her mouth and the averted slant of her eyes, said all that words did not. 

The world was round, Kakashi was late, Tsunade-sama drank sake, and Sakura was emotional. So it was. Unfortunately, Sakura’s mother, who lived on any given day 17 times removed from any errant scrap of passion, viewed emotional outbursts with suspicion and bafflement. To her mother, crying, or yelling, blushing and giggling, gasping with laughter- all of these things were like stripping and streaking through the neighborhood. As a child, such a display might be embarrassing, but overall expected, perfectly justifiable as long as the behavior was punished. As an adult, to do so would be totally inappropriate, embarrassing to you and all coincidental spectators, and evidence that you were at best improperly brought up and at worst, mentally unstable. 

Kaa-san’s eyes were drilling into her, clearly expecting a response that was already belated. Short on sleep, sick from her dreams, The mention of Team 7 only increased Sakura’s desire to have this parental intercession expedited. Ideally without encouraging a repeat incident. 

“No, Kaa-san, there wasn’t any training this morning.” No point trying to explain about Team 7 again .“Would you like some tea?” She asked, falling back on the politeness defense. 

Her mother’s eyes flicked back and forth over her shoulder, taking stock of the functional room with its light bamboo furniture. Then they refocused on Sakura’s dishevelled appearance briefly once more, before settling on some place just over her forehead. Maybe the doorframe? 

“That’s alright Sakura-chan, I wouldn’t want to interrupt your busy day. I was just on my way to pick up potatoes for nikujaga tonight.” She paused before tacking on a perfunctory “Make sure to stop by for dinner again soon.” 

Motherly duties achieved (with very mediocre marks), Haruno Mebuki quirked her lips again, almost a smile, patted Sakura’s shoulder, and left. 

Stranded in the stink of her own dirty clothes, Sakura stood alone in the hallway, door flung wide, divided into many pieces: fractylized. 

****************

She ate warm rice with bonito flakes for breakfast, and then she cried in the shower.

Her mother, her nightmares, all of her hopes for the future riding on one singular jutsu that had never been replicated. It overwhelmed her. She _would_ do it, she _could_ find a way. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t hard sometimes, to be alone in all the ways that mattered. Her parents loved her, probably, but they didn’t _understand_ her, and that made all the difference. Ino was a real friend, in her dramatic way, but she had her own obligations to her team, her clan, and her family. She couldn’t be everything at once to Sakura, and it wasn’t in her nature to be. Tsunade-sama was the closest thing she had to an aunt, or maybe a much older sister, but as Hokage, her obligation to the village _had_ to come first. Sakura wasn’t alone, but she was. She was lonely, lonely, lonely. Afraid. Uncertain. 

Her tears mixed in with her strawberry body wash. It felt a little strange to be weeping, scrunching her face, pressing her hands against her eyes, and smelling like strawberries. And that thought was enough to make her smile, just a bit. 

It was enough to motivate her to wash her hair, keep moving forward.

Dry, in clean spandex, smelling strongly of a strawberry cream puff, Sakura found beneath doubt, her resolve had not dispersed. It was hard to feel dizzy from genjutsu induced dreams and parental incompetence when she was clean and full and still capable of appreciating the warm sun on her hair, across her shoulders. 

***********************

The scrolls were where she’d left them. They smelled a bit worse, from the clump of yakisoba that clung to the bag. (The dumpster she’d chosen abutted a notoriously subpar restaurant.) She wouldn’t risk opening it in public, so she brought it back to her apartment, walking casually and waving at the faces she knew or had seen working around the hospital. It wouldn’t do to appear suspicious now, although it didn’t seem that any serious alarm had been raised after the literal alarm had been raised in the Uchiha district the night before. 

There was a bit of a history of teenage civilians setting off obscure traps while trying to ghost hunt in the abandoned compound at night. She quite literally knew of someone who had accidentally died that way. (Tsunade-sama had to authorize a settlement to the family.) Hopefully that reputation was enough to hold off suspicion. 

In her apartment, she activated a simplified privacy seal copied from the one in Hokage tower. Not that anyone, except apparently her mother, ever visited. And Ino sometimes, but she had been busy with training recently. Sakura suspected that it was because she was going to ask Tsunade to take her on. Maybe even more likely now that she'd heard of Sakura’s changed status. 

There was also a small possibility that, since they were meeting tomorrow, the Hokage had assigned an ANBU tail to watch her, and prevent her from BS-ing her progress report. It was something she had considered the night before, but it seemed reasonable to conclude that if she was followed into the Uchiha Compound, they would have stopped her from committing heritage theft. Hopefully. But with increasing whispers of Akatsuki activity across the continent, the Godaime probably didn’t have ANBU to waste on an errant Chuunin apprentice. Still, she activated the seal as a precaution, which was almost never ill advised when it came to shinobi matters.

After the hum signaled the seal taking effect, Sakura carefully emptied her bag onto the carpet. The scrolls looked very out of place, dusty and faded against the green fuzz. Leaving them, she went and retrieved a set of sealing scrolls from on top of her dresser- military issue upon promotion to chuunin. Having retrieved those, she was halfway to the kitchenette to brew a pot of tea when she thought better of it. Theft was one thing. Staining priceless scrolls with Oolong was far more obscene. 

Upon counting, there were 14 scrolls in total, and one (1) ornamental fan that had been accidentally nabbed with the bunch. What was it with the fans recently… Maybe the products of prolonged karmic retribution for being a childhood fangirl. Ha!

She tied her hair up, washed her hands, and slipped on a pair of latex gloves. Studying as a medic had inspired in her a paranoia for cleanliness which, combined with her reverence for knowledge, was making her very nervous about handling such precious papers.

She looked down at the scrolls. They did not move from their position spread across the carpet, still, they seemed to judge her. Must be an Uchiha thing. 

The first one she picked up had a round seal that had been broken at some point in the past, bits of it still flaking off in chunks. It was tied shut with a supple navy ribbon. Upon opening, the faded signatures at the bottom indicated a summoning scroll. The paw print on top, combined with her memories of Sasuke-kun, indicated cats. Fascinating, but too traceable to be useful to her. Plus, the faded signatures were haunting in their own way. She retied the ribbon and sealed it in the leftmost storage scroll before retrieving the next. It was a detailed medical drawing of a sharingan, she sealed it away with the first. Interesting, but not relevant. It wasn’t until the 5th scroll that she found something.

It appeared to be a very shabby summoning contract, torn and yellowing at the edges, not tied or sealed, just loosely rolled.. There were only two signatures on it, both Uchihas, and both of them long greyed. Above, an ink drawing, still dark, depicted a smiling tanuki in a broad brimmed hat. Over his paw, an illusion in a puff of smoke.

An unexpected quality of cuteness, in an ancient Uchiha scroll, and an even more unexpected summoning contract. Although Tanuki were known for their illusions, the Uchiha were definitely too proud to let a cute little racoon dog become the animal emblematic of their clan. This would explain the quantity of signatures, but Sakura had no such qualms. In fact, she really quite liked cute animals. And she could bet that a tanuki could teach her genjutsu. Certainly more than Kakashi had done. (The bar was low.)

She got up and walked a loop of the room, and then another. On the third turn she walked up the wall and stood upside down on the ceiling. Changes in position and blood flow were good for thinking. It was science. 

Genjutsu _was_ a skill that she was predisposed towards. With all her focus on the mokuton and her beat down from Rock Lee recently, she hadn’t thought much about developing other aspects of her repertoire. Up to one week ago, she’d also assumed that she would one day sign a contract with Katsuyu-sama. But without that obligation, there were… possibilities. 

A summoning contract with an animal specializing in genjutsu. The idea had potential. Powerful shinobi had a tendency to rely on their signature jutsus, kekkei genkai, or both. The rasengan, sharingan, byakugan, chidori being prime examples. A summons that complemented a skill set of hers that wasn’t the mokuton could help prevent her from falling into that trap. And, assuming she was successful with the mokuton, maybe she could find a way to synthesize genjutsu into it. Hmmm. It was interesting indeed. 

Disrupting the chakra in her feet, she did a neat flip back down to the wood floor. Stumbled once from the abrupt shift in blood flow, then sealed the contract into the storage scroll she’d mentally labeled- ‘potential’.

Sakura continued her search. The next six scrolls were varying levels of interest, but none of them were mokuton related. 

The thirteenth was different. 

It was a roll like the others, but very thick, more like a log than a hollow tube. The seal on it was unbroken, circular, done in vermillion ink of a style as if to signify some sort of advanced sharingan eye.

Over the last 24 hours, as she had considered breaking into the Uchiha compound, and again when she had found the secret door underneath the tatami, Sakura had felt herself on the precipice of choices that could not be taken back. 

The red seal gave her the same hesitance. But more. It was pristine, ominous. The weight of it in her hands was much heavier than the others. She just knew. This was the one. This was the scroll that would be the key. 

She pulled a kunai from her pocket, twirled it around her thumb once. Clenched her teeth, tensed her shoulders. 

Then, with economic precision, she slit the seal in two. 

*************

Kisame was a good partner, loyal, respectful, easygoing. Nevertheless, his table manners were an afront. Uchiha Itachi was a kin-killer, a tool of prodigious violence, a traitor. But he had been a clan heir once, and he simply could not quash within himself certain standards of propriety. 

They were camping in a truly remote cave near the southern tip of Tea Country. The ocean weather had eroded many holes into the cliff face above a rocky beach, one of which was deep enough for at least three to camp comfortably, or in this case, one man and one giant-- both missing nin of legendary notoriety. 

Itachi was oiling and sharpening his favored kunai set, and probably doing little to hide his stiff disgust at the noises coming from the other side of the cave, as his partner dismembered and slurped from a still twitching crab. 

Kisame was in high spirits. They had had what he described as a “good” day, which Itachi himself thought of only as successful. A standard assasination, this time, the only son of the Earth Daimyo, vacationing in a lush estate deep in the Land of Tea. Itachi had finished the man with a kunai to the eye, and Kisame had dealt with the guards- 8 in total- only three of which were jounin level. This might have been standard fare, but one of the lower ranking hires was a red headed Uzumaki descendant, whose untrained use of kekkei genkai whet Sameheda’s appetite, and chained Kisame up (literally) long enough to amuse his bloodthirst. 

The event itself took them not yet half an hour, and only because they did a bit of scouting beforehand, at Itachi’s insistence. It was an indifferent kind of killing, perfunctory, except that last Uzumaki who had gone out like a shout. 

Leader regularly contracted Akatsuki pairs out for mercenary business, in between their Jinchuuriki missions, as a way of generating and replenishing income for all members, but Itachi privately felt that this particular mission had served a dual purpose. 

Earth Country had struggled after the 4th shinobi war, they had few exports, and the majority of land was too rocky for farming or livestock. Many young people trained to become shinobi because it was the most lucrative and stable form of employment available to them, and because the Iwa-shinobi forces were depleted after the war, but still well funded. The ballooning military forces put pressure on the civilian leadership in the capital, whose attempts to maintain control resulted in an internal struggle that escalated into a slew of political killings- largely carried out by hired shinobi. Distrust among the civilian elite towards shinobi grew in proportion with income to Iwagakure, deaths of important officials in the government further crippled leadership in the capital, and increasingly dire living conditions pushed more desperate youths into the military. 

The Earth Daimyo had only one child. Or had had, Itachi supposed with the flicker of a frown. In killing the son, the legitimacy of the civilian government, and the potential of succession ended. It meant more instability in Earth Country, which, as one of the five great elemental nations, was already a gain for the Akatsuki. It also meant an increase in refugees- fleeing starvation and instability, and moving south. South, where the imigration policies in Wind and Fire were notably stringent- to prevent spies from targeting the great hidden villages this way. Refugees who, as the poor and the desperate, were likely related to, or knowing of members of Iwa shinobi forces. They would not be welcomed. They would not be welcomed en-mass anywhere except for the city of Amegakure, conveniently located at the center of the southern border of Earth Country. 

It was a clever move indeed, and one of the reasons that the Akatsuki were such a dangerous operation. Whoever it was influencing the strategic pieces day to day, whether it be Madara or Pein, they had vision. They had vision, and now the Akatsuki had muscle- of power frankly incomparable, leadership, and because of a steady influx of refugees- they had a loyal and growing civilian base. 

Sometimes he thought that all his efforts, his betrayals, his spying, would be for nothing and that the Akatsuki would triumph over the elemental nations. And perhaps the world would be better for it. Perhaps there would be no more war.

He would not turn away from Konoha now, he had staked too much life upon his loyalties, Shisui had died for it, and indeed, Sasuke needed Konoha if he were to bear the burden of the Uchiha name. But if all his efforts were to fail, he did not imagine that he would go to death in despair. Strange thoughts indeed.

Activating his Sharingan with the hopes of catching a flicker of the day’s last light on the ocean outside, Itachi was greeted with the equally unforgettable view of Kisame using a spindly bit of shell to extricate a filmy flap of crab lung from between his pointed teeth. 

“No need to look so offended there, Uchiha.” 

Itachi very pointedly set his kunai down and thoroughly wiped his hands off. Kisame just laughed in his typical irreverent way. He really was unforgivably loud. 

“Yeah, yeah, manners, personal hygiene, I got it, I got it.” The fact that he was still using a crab leg to pick through his teeth certainly detracted from the impact. 

“...Kisame-san…” He couldn’t help but huffing an extremely slight sigh. They had been partners for so long now that it was virtually useless to even voice annoyance. The argument had been played out before. Anyways, Itachi wasn’t one for nagging, more… pointed and judgemental silences. 

Kisame barked out another laugh, he was almost impossible to offend. Possibly why there was such an unspoken easiness between them. His partner then dislodged the last crab remains from his pointed grin and lobbed the remnants out through the mouth of the cave. 

They lapsed again into comfortable silence.

Or it would have been so if Itachi had not been shocked to his feet by a sudden and deafening alarm. At Itachi’s sudden alertness, Kisame was crouched, Samehada in hand, ferocious eyes glittering with animal sharpness. 

It took approximately three seconds of lethal focus for Itachi to realize that he was the only one hearing the caterwaul, two more to realize, in total shock, that it was the product of a very old and very powerful security genjutsu from his old home in Konoha. And one final second for him to make it stop. 

He dipped a slight nod towards Kisame, who, though his eyes remained wary, relaxed completely and made to rewrap the bandages on Samehada. 

His partner would not beg an explanation, but for clarification, Itachi elaborated,

“No threat.”

Kisame grunted an assent, and continued tightening the wraps on his sword. However, Itachi noticed the last wariness had left his shark eyes, and now only a shine of curiosity remained. 

Itachi himself was thinking furiously.

He still remembered the day, some 7 years ago now, when his father had taken him through the trap door in their dining room and tasked him with laying a particularly complex genjutsu on the antechamber of the clan’s private library. At the time, Itachi had been somewhat confused, having thought the days of shooting _Katon_ jutsus over the lake at his father’s behest long behind him. In fact, he had never seen the Uchiha library before that day, having spent the part of his life that he might have been old enough to appreciate it training, fighting in wars, spying, trying to execute his clan duties, or looking after his brother. 

He had _actually been surprised_ that it had been underneath the house all along. Not many things escaped his notice.

His curiosity had been doubly piqued when he went to cast the genjutsu and became aware of an enormously layered system of them already in place over the room. Turning a glance in askance at his father, the serious man had responded,

“Itachi, you will be clan head.” It was not a question. “As such, you will be responsible for protecting the legacy and pride of the Uchiha clan. This is that legacy.” 

He had not been a man for many words.

Itachi had surmised at the time that he had unwittingly just been put through a clan head initiation rite. That casting a genjutsu to protect the scrolls and artifacts was supposed to be a metaphor for the Clan Head protecting the pride and heritage of the Uchiha in his duties as a leader. 

Weeks later, on That Night. When he had ended that very legacy of the Uchiha he was supposed to protect, Itachi had thought back to the day in the cool dirt underneath the room where they dined as a family, and he had wondered,

_What was the good of pride if there were no people?_

But such memories did him no good now. 

What mattered was that the tricky genjutsu Itachi had laid 7 years ago had had two parts. The first part was an unfortunate illusion that made the victim feel, smell, hear, and taste cockroaches in their ears, nose, mouth, and eyes. The second was a warning mechanism that made the victim perceive a very loud alarm. The first illusion was obvious, and the second was made to trigger a visceral response that would provoke an involuntary reaction. But that wasn’t the whole purpose.

The trick was thus: the first part of the genjutsu was anchored to the room, but the second part Itachi had anchored to himself. To anchor an illusion on oneself and then sustain it over many years and hundreds of miles of distance should have been a sure way to die of chakra depletion. However, because Itachi had imparted an enormous amount of chakra on the first illusion, despite its simplicity, he essentially created a feedback loop where because the two aspects of the genjutsu were tied, the first illusion sustained the second. And this was all without sacrificing the infinitesimal awareness of the second illusion that connected him to that basement. 

Which was why, moments before, when whichever ROOT shinobi Danzo had sent to test Itachi’s awareness had triggered the genjutsu, he had experienced such ear splitting ringing. 

He had known that the old war hawk would not be content to let Uchiha secrets alone. Ever since his otouto left the village, he had been waiting for the elder to make a move, to test his luck. He was only surprised it had taken so long. 

With their Akatsuki mission complete, Itachi had thought to make an appearance in Oto and remind Orochimaru of the taste of fear, but he supposed he could do that and still find the time to remind Danzo of his past crimes, and of his promises.

It was time he returned to Konoha.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free to inundate me with all and any opinion you have on Itachi. I think he is a fascinating and tragic character.
> 
> peace out till next time 
> 
> -blue


	6. Uchiha Itachi is no longer fucking around.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Ws and some big Ls for Sakura.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I say every chapter is my favorite, but this chapter is actually my favorite. I want to thank everyone who commented on my last chapter, and I'm glad everyone likes Itachi as much as I do.   
> I'm thinking about aging everyone up a few years for the sake of my sanity, since the thought of writing a romance between a 15 yo and 20 yo makes me want to send myself to jail, but I'm not sure how I'd make it work...  
> Anyways, enjoy! I did this instead of schoolwork haha.
> 
> Considering the role of women in the warring states period was one of the most interesting aspects of writing this chapter. It's majorly not addressed in canon. So I used my inference making skills! Hope in makes sense!

Tsunade was not hungover, which was nice. She had never been an early riser in any case, but the clear-headedness was really creating a mental barrier in between ‘bad mood’ and ‘ _ really  _ bad mood’ all the same. 

She fingered one of her old silver bracelets. But bad mood wasn’t the right word for it.

The night before, preparing to break the crisp seal off of a bottle of sake, Tsunade had been surprised by the emergence of the Yamanaka heiress into the Hokage’s office and her ensuing appeals for an apprenticeship. In itself, not shocking. As a Sannin, Tsunade had received many such pleas before. 

But this time, it had made her too thoughtful to even drink, which was an interesting development. For one, Yamanaka was so much like herself from a different time. The hair, the entitled attitude, her confident bravado masking insecurity. The whole scene had given her a serious case of cringe. And as if being reminded of her prepubescent self wasn’t enough, Tsunade had had aggressive flashbacks to Sakura’s similar pleas from two years ago. It was so bad that she’d barely been able to focus on Yamanaka’s babbling, so beset by memories of the blushing, shaking, apologizing, pink haired girl. 

Tsunade was not ashamed to admit that she was an intimidating woman. She’d worked hard to be most commonly associated with the term ‘monstrous’, and was no stranger to causing nervousness in others. But Sakura’s insecurity that day had been like a deep cut to the femoral artery, indiscriminately pouring its contents all over the room. It was so painful, Tsunade had almost not considered the apprenticeship request at all. 

But she had tested the wimpy looking girl all the same, as was her policy.

Pulling a suturing needle from a covert pouch in her bra, not a shred of shame to be found in her heart, Tsunade had pinched it between two fingers and held it up- as if to say ‘is this your card?’. Then she’d growled, in her very best Jiraiya-if-that’s-you-I-hear-behind-the-bathhouse-you’d-better-start-fucking-running voice

“Thread it.”

Sakura had glanced around the room, as if waiting for an ANBU guard to jump out and start laughing. She’d inched forward, painfully hesitant, before stumbling in her haste to grasp the needle. Tsunade had been reminded of a baby Nara fawn, only more pathetic.

Then, right in front of the desk, awkward and skinny, dwarfed by the imposing office, the little fawn had transformed. 

Her glassy eyes had glinted with a sudden comprehension and hungry focus. With an impressive forehead wrinkle, and a shaky nod, she had produced a wobbly but otherwise immaculate thread of softly glowing chakra and guided it neatly through the eye of the suturing needle. It was the work of less than 20 seconds. 

And who was Tsunade to deny the rare talent, however bedraggled, that served itself right into her office?

She hummed a thoughtful tone. That memory was a fond one, but it was edging into nostalgia territory these days. 

She would take Yamanaka on. Her chakra control, after a few tries, was good enough to thread, and the girl had guts in the right places. Medical techniques translated well into T&I, and as the Yamanaka heiress, Inoichi would undoubtedly be training her in T&I techniques. It could work. 

Starting fresh with a new apprentice. Again. 

It had not escaped her notice that virtually every kunoichi of the young generation had come to her for training. Sakura, Yamanaka, the double bun weapons girl, even Inuzuka Hana often solicited her advice. 

What the fuck were the male jonin senseis teaching these girls? Incompetence? Learned helplessness? Was she the only competent nin in the whole of Konoha that was willing to foster kunoichi talent?

Her pen broke with a plastic snap, marring the slug she’d been doodling on a diplomatic missive from Suna. She threw it in the bottom drawer on her left, onto a stack of its equally snapped predecessors. 

While it was said (by her late Oba-sama) that chakra had been bestowed upon humans by an ancient goddess, kunoichi were actually a relatively recent development. 

During the warring states period, women had not been taught more than basic self defense, and except in the rarest cases, were not allowed on the battlefield. In order to raise children for battle, there needed to  _ be  _ children, and 65% did not live past age 13. As such, girls were often married and pregnant as early as 12 and definitely by 14. Most women died in childbirth before the age of 18, sometimes leaving as many as 5 children behind. 

It had not been a proud hour for humanity. 

While things had changed after her Grandfather founded the village, certain ideas persisted beyond the newfound peace. Practices begun in the cruel realities of a desperate necessity, after a stretch of intervening years, became in collective shinobi (read: men) memory, an ironclad tradition from an era of legend. It was a process Tsunade knew all too well, as someone who had suffered much and slaughtered many, only to become idolized as one of a legendary three. 

As such, certain beliefs about women, and by extension, kunoichi, had persisted beyond the warring states era, and gained long lasting traction within many of the old clans, and in hidden village society in general. Some of her particular favorites including, but not limited to, impurity in female chakra, the fertility and breeding superiority of teenage brides, an absurd tendency to idolize women who died in childbirth, and a belief that for shinobi of high status, it was a sign of power to possess a wife who could not defend herself, or who broke her blades and revoked her kunoichi rights upon marriage. 

Tsunade herself, in her less arrogant moments, acknowledged that, without the Senju name, the furious adamance of her grandmother, her healing specialty (Nurturing! Not a threat!), her unmarried status, and the inability of both of her male teammates to take the position, she never would have gotten close to the Hokage position. 

She tried to help kunoichi’s status as her position allowed, to take the academy ratio up from 2:1 to 3:2, to keep the jounin senseis in line. And things were certainly better than when she was a girl. (At age 13, to realize the way Sarutobi-Sensei looked at her growing breasts. To hear him joke with Jiraiya about her cup size.) But she could only do so much. As Hokage, she was running a military, and to do so she needed the great clans’ support. Could not afford to alienate them through unpopular social reform, not when Danzo’s coalition had to be held in check, and all out war had to be avoided. 

Laying her head on the broad desk for a moment, she heaved a sigh. Ugh. A drink was sounding increasingly desirable. 

It made her an old coward, no doubt, but she was relying on the next generation to make change where she had failed. Looking at her sparky pink apprentice, at Shizune, at the upstart Mizukage, they were strong, full of hope. She was a remnant of the past, just trying to keep the whole chaotic shitstorm flying in the right direction long enough for them to have a future to inherit.

The week before, when Sakura came to her to end her apprenticeship, Tsunade had felt her age most keenly. She had, much to her own embarrassment, found herself mourning her own legacy. But seeing Yamanaka had forced her to reflect. To consider how she felt about the next generation of kunoichi, about her relationship with her apprentice, and about who she wanted to be to the younger woman.

It was a startling, but adamant conclusion that she came to: Sakura did not need to learn the Byakugou seal or to sign a contract with Katsuyu-sama to continue her legacy. It was more important for her to become strong, ambitious, to become powerful enough to be feared, to go further than Tsunade had, further than Tsunade could, in whatever direction that led. Because in their world, power was freedom, and it was impossible to enact change without it. And if breaking from her mentorship was how Sakura was going to do it, Tsunade would help her in all the ways that she could, and perhaps it would be enough. 

She was resolved.

Tsunade spun in her chair and looked out on the morning village. Another sunny day it seemed. Good, she hated the rain. 

She’d spent much of the morning worrying about her apprentice, but that was hardly the sum of her problems.

A toad from Jiraiya had come last week. He would be returning soon, with a presumably better trained Naruto, and news from his spies. 

The timing was close, Danzo had been spreading discontent among his allies, and whispering of her inability to lead Konoha through a 4th Ninja War. She still had hope that it would not come to that, but hope would do little to protect the village. She needed Jiraiya nearby. With his intel on the Akatsuki, and (would the irony never end) his position as one of her strongest allies, he was very useful to her. More than that, she wanted someone to talk to, someone she trusted. She would personally nominate Danzo for hokage before she confessed it, but she missed the lecherous oaf too. 

There were heavy footsteps in the hallway outside of her office, and the door flew open with a crash. Tsunade, facing the windows, felt the reverberations through the room.

She smiled.

For a ninja, her former apprentice certainly could make an entrance.

*****************

Sakura found herself standing across the room from her mentor for the second time in a week. The older woman, who had been facing the window, turned to her with a smile. The kind of smile that she’d seen Yamanaka-san give Ino when the audacious blonde had announced her promotion to chuunin. Proud and a little bit sad. 

“Shishou.” She said, though the title was no longer quite accurate.

“Sakura.” 

There was a silence before Tsunade-sama seemed to sharpen. 

“You’ve had a week.” She said calmly, confidently. “Do you remain resolved?”

“Hai.” Sakura was pleased and surprised at the certainty in her own voice.

“So be it. Your apprenticeship is officially ended.” 

The room once again fell to silence following Tsunade’s pronouncement, and Sakura’s heart ached for the finality of it all. Had she made the correct choice? Would it be enough?

Tsunade held her hand up. 

“Now, as a kind and magnanimous Hokage, I’m of half a mind to ‘suspend’ you from duties for a month of training.”

“Shishou!”

“That’s Hokage-sama to you Haruno.” Tsunade smirked.

“Ho-ka-ge-sa-ma.” she said with emphasis, surprised by Tsunade’s good humor. “I’m not complaining about having time to train, it’s just, isn’t that like, uhh... nepotism or something?”

“No. And here’s why. Momentarily, I will be presenting you with a mission scroll for a solo B-rank. Upon completion, as it’s a solo mission, you will be entitled to two weeks leave, which, since you’re shinobi status is technically ‘awaiting team assignment’ can easily become a month. Perfectly legitimate.”

Sakura wasn’t sure that discounted the nepotism claim, and regardless, it made her uncomfortable to see the effort that Tsunade was making on her behalf. It felt unmerited, given that she had voluntarily quit her apprenticeship.

“I understand, and I am very grateful… but, I don’t want you to feel…” she hesitated, twisted her hands “...obligated to me.”

“Have a little backbone girl!” Tsunade banged a fist on the table, “Would I offer if I wasn’t serious? I can’t have any apprentice of mine, former or otherwise, shaming my illustrious legacy.”

“Hai.” Sakura nodded through a dry but grateful smile. 

“Now tell me Sakura, and I don’t want to hear any bullshit either, what’s your training plan?” 

Ah yes, Sakura thought, that.

******  _ The Previous Night  _ ******

The scroll must have been quite old. It crackled with discomfort as it was unfurled, despite this, it was pristine, the paper like cream. Sakura was startled therefore, to notice the abysmal and rushed handwriting occupying the scroll. The brushstrokes were hurried and sloppy, the paper was splattered with flecks of ink, and the beginning was graced with a large and ostentatious signature entirely at odds with the messiness of the rest of the document. 

The scroll had looked like the ultimate culmination of all secret Uchiha techniques, but it was apparently…she considered the format…, a journal? But who would use such a high quality documentation in presumably an era of limited resources, for such a (badly) kept diary?

Sakura’s gaze narrowed in on the offensively elaborate signature.

……….. Uchiha Madara, apparently. 

Well that was sort of promising at least. Although Sakura’s impression of one of the legendary shinobi who founded Konoha was certainly taking a hit. 

She skimmed down the first line. 

**_Chichi-ue says I will not be clan head if I don’t improve my writing. It’s only cause I embarrassed him in front of the elders. But I was right and I don’t regret it. And anyways it doesn’t matter because I’m 9 and already stronger than most of the adults, so I’ll be the clan head anyways. At least, that’s what Izuna said._ **

Tweenage angst. Skip. Sakura deduced by the variation in ink colors and writing skill among the entries, the scroll had been updated irregularly. She moved to a later entry, hopefully from years later.

**_Masaru did not return from the Senju raid yesterday. He was 6 and now he is dead. I hate it so much it’s like burning alive. I have to protect Izuna. I have to._ **

This entry had not been formed like the others. The characters were shaped with care, loss. She ran a finger down the last sentence. Maybe the loss of a brother? A close friend? Damn. That was a mood killer. 

She once again skipped ahead to a later entry, this time preparing herself emotionally for another hit.

**_I met an idiot when I was at the river today. He got so depressed when I called him stupid. Can’t believe he skipped his stone all the way across the river and I couldn’t. I’ll train harder and beat him next time. …_ **

Then a complete tonal shift,

**_It hasn’t been the same since Masaru. Killing is worthless. I wish the enemy could understand. I’ll kill them all if I have to, but I’m tired of it._ **

Sakura was abruptly grateful that she had not grown up in the Warring States period. Reading a first person account was much different than reading an academy textbook, or a romanticized novel on the subject. 

She ran a hand through her choppy hair, heaved a slow pensive breath. Tried to focus on her goal, and not the image of a 6 year old’s broken body, too small in its armor, dead and alone. 

**_Hashirama is like me. When we met again by the river,-_ **

Wait. She glanced back. Apparently the depressed idiot from the previous entry was God of Shinobi, Shodaime Hokage Senju Hashirama…… okay. She read on,

**_He said his brothers were killed, just like Masaru was, and the others before. He has a brother left too, like Izuna. We have decided to become stronger, so that we can protect them. I-_ **

This was a fascinating and kind of heart-breaking account of Konoha’s two founders. When she had more time, she was definitely going to read the whole thing through. But for now, hmm, wonder if he went into any more detail about his and Shodaime-sama’s training. She skipped to the next entry.

**_Hashirama is jealous of my fire jutsu. He only has some earth and some water, and he’s bad at both. Ha!_ **

**_When he’s not going on about his dreams for the future, he’s talking about inventing his own jutsu, and then he gets depressed when I tell him he’s an idiot. He is an idiot._ **

**_I’ll never tell him, but his idea is a little bit good. A little. If he actually manages to control the trees, he’ll be almost as good as I am. I don’t see how it’s possible though. Elements can be manipulated because they are simple. A plant is living. It grows and changes without manipulation. To create life, he might have to give it. Or maybe control the way an already existing tree grows? If I don’t understand how that’s possible, I can’t imagine that idiot will._ **

**_Anyways, we raced to the top of---_ **

Sakura stopped reading. Pushed aside any and all parallels drawing her towards the forbidden Sasuke and Naruto topic, and locked them in a mental box. She thought about Madara’s words. Then she skimmed through the rest of the scroll. The entries ended soon after, leaving the vast majority of the paper ominously blank. The mokuton was not mentioned again except for once in relation to some prank? (It was unclear.)

Then she thought. Took notes. Thought more. 

There was something in Madara’s words. A truth?

********************

Sakura didn’t answer Tsunade’s question directly, instead, she approached the desk, a bit fast but smooth, recklessly close to laughing. Tsunade raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. Sakura maintained eye contact, she didn’t glance around the room, although she almost felt the eyes of ANBU watching. Hopefully they would keep their mouths shut. 

She’d been awake all night, flinging her chakra around, thinking about healing and growing, about what Madara had written about the mokuton. No other jutsus were about creating something living from something inanimate, from nothing. Giving life to get life. Life for life, or generating growth from something already living? What was it?

It had been close to morning’s light when she finally understood. It would not have been possible if not for her training under Tsunade. 

The idea that had her standing up from the floor with a shout, papers filled with notes exploding outwards, was medical jutsu. Medical jutsu was the key. 

It was a sublime revelation, a karmic orgasm.

The weakest, most female oriented, underrated, sidelined ninja technique. And it was the key. She had laughed and cried and laughed again. Crazy-sounding like she was mother-fucking Orochimaru. 

The mystic-palm technique was fundamentally the stimulation of cell growth and regeneration within the human body using finely tuned chakra. So, she had thought, astonished at her own genius, if she could stimulate cell growth in a dead fish or a living person, why the ever-loving-mother-fuck could she not do it on a tree? On a wood beam? 

Or, say, the Hokage’s desk?

Producing an immaculate green glowing thread of chakra, Sakura grinned, giddy underneath Tsunade’s gaze. She severed the thread and let it float down, dandelion fluff in the wind, to absorb into the surface of the desk. Then, with a supreme focus, and no small amount of prayer ( _ Kami-sama, Kami-sama, please.)  _ she attempted to reverse engineer the mokuton jutsu.

Nothing happened.

And then, eliciting a gasp from her mentor, unfurling delicately, as if shy under the weight of the moment, a tiny pine sapling- it’s needles still soft, the lightest green, broke through the desk’s surface. 

Tsunade threw her head back and laughed. Laughed and laughed. Who was she to deny the talent, however overlooked, that served itself right into her office?

*******

Sakura left the Hokage office, mission scroll clutched to her chest, in a haze. She was happy that Tsunade-sama trusted her, a bit scared, but happy. But more than that, she could not believe that she had partially replicated the mokuton jutsu. 

She walked the seven blocks back home faster than usual, pausing once to wave at Rock Lee as he bolted by in a cloud of dust. All the days that week had been sunny, pleasantly warm, with a lively breeze, which was, in Sakura’s opinion, the best sort of weather for living. And oh, how she was living. It was as if she had never truly known life until this exact day, the grand triumph of it all. 

When she returned to her apartment, she packed for her mission quickly and efficiently, if with somewhat more flair than usual. It was a simple mission, retrieval of a particular medical herb, but the travel would take some time and she needed to leave that evening. Upon consideration, she included the storage scrolls containing the pilfered Uchiha scrolls in her pack. Too risky to leave unattended in her apartment for two weeks. 

Hours later, on her way to the gate, she stopped at her favorite place and bought anmitsu, for the hell of it, and consumed it with relish.

After signing out, she looked back at the village. The roofs shone in the afternoon light and the Hokage rock seemed proud, dramatic over it all. She gave a nod towards the stone Shodaime before she turned and flashed into the forest.

************

Kisame had ventured off, in his own time, to partake in what Itachi correctly conjectured to be some less-than savoury pursuits. Whenever such a  _ mood  _ overtook Kisame, he tended to hum a particular lewd song, probably involuntarily, that over the years, had come to serve as an effective sign to Itachi of his intent, and aided him in his avoidance of any and all puns concerning getting dicks wet in more ways than one. 

They had parted with a nod, some miles back, although his partner had looked criminally amused. 

Unfortunately, Kisame had once related the lyrics of the song to Itachi in a exceptionally rare moment of mutual drunkenness, and forever afterwards, whenever his partner started humming it, Itachi could not get it out of his head.

Which is why he found himself humming alone as he ate a soldier pill in a tree on the eastern edge of Fire Country, trying to remember if the line went ‘ _ scores of whores’,  _ or maybe it was ‘ _ floors of whores’? _

It was beneficial that Kisame was gone, because Itachi was unsettled, and he probably wouldn’t have been able to hide it from his partner. He hummed louder, the quiet rumbling sound as close as he got to screaming from stress. 

The Danzo situation was not ideal. If the old man was willing to break into Uchiha archives, it was only one step away from Sasuke’s position being jeopardized. If Sasuke was at risk, Itachi might be next. His otouto was the priority, but it would be more difficult to protect him if Danzo went back on his word right now, when he was so close to the end. Itachi had given 7 years of Akatsuki intel to Konoha, and they were more than capable of deciding that he had served his purpose as a spy. To Konoha, loyalty didn’t mean anything unless it was convenient. Shisui might have disagreed, but look how loyalty had served him. 

He should have gone back to renew the genjutsu sooner. It had undoubtedly grown weaker without yearly chakra to feed it. He should have checked the clan traps. It was his fault for growing complacent. It was weakness to avoid Konoha for emotional reasons, and now it was a weakness that Danzo had exploited. 

His humming reached a fever pitch, but he had to pause to cough, his throat burning and itching terribly. The illness was worsening. It wasn’t particularly terrifying, he still walked the earth, but he was already dead in all the ways that mattered. But it did make his current plans more difficult. Which was annoying. 

When the wet hacking ceased, he stood, the reminder of his illness a stimulant to his urgency. He summoned the white crow, and sent it off towards Sound. It was the Watcher, and would keep him apprised as he settled affairs in Konoha. 

Then, like the crow himself, he took flight.

The journey went quickly, as things tended to do when he was motivated. He travelled during the evening and through night, because of the inherent sharingan advantage, and because it suited him, and it was still barely dark when the trees grew taller- signalling closeness to Konoha.

The Hashirama trees were  _ unique,  _ which was Itachi’s way of pretending that he didn’t find comfort in them. There was a particular peaty smell to the forest that reminded him of being a child. He focused always on the future, his mission, his little brother, but sometimes still, he was reminded that misery was not the measure of life. It was quietly miraculous to think that the forest smelled the same, the trees grew slowly upwards, even when he would soon be gone forever.

Strange solace.

Itachi was still two hours, breakneck pace, outside of Konoha when he felt it. An Uchiha tag. A microscopic seal the Uchiha had once placed on all their valuables. It emitted a unique energy signature that wasn’t discernable from say, a house plant or a cockroach, unless you were strictly familiar with it. Which, though much time had elapsed, Itachi was. The seals were very difficult to detect manually as well, because the inking was most commonly done in a color only perceivable with the sharingan. A prodigious sensor, like the Nidaime might have been able to pick it out through chakra alone, but Itachi doubted even someone like Kakashi would know what to look for. 

In other words, an Uchiha tag was a highly accurate tool for catching thieves of clan property. 

He went from full tilt to instant standstill. Was it a trap? Danzo couldn’t have known his timing, but the theft definitely could have been a ploy to draw him back to the village. He scanned the undergrowth with his three tomoe sharingan. He couldn’t discern any indications of an ambush. The forest was still alive with quiet animal sounds, no indication of genjutsu, no abnormalities visible in the undergrowth, no scent of metal, explosive powder, blood, or soap, and no chakra- wait. He sensed one chakra signature, with only basic masking, from the same direction as the tag. 

As he approached through the trees, he was less than a shadow, chakra muffled to nonexistence. 

Itachi was a genjutsu master and a spy, but he did not enjoy being toyed with, lied to, or patronized. It was a pact he held with himself. He would lie to his brother, from necessity, and he would maintain his cover as a spy, to serve his purpose. But he would suffer no other lies and no other pretensions in his life. 

It was the smallest integrity, but he clung to it preciously, desperately. 

As such, he was in no mood to play Danzo's games, especially those involving the desecration of Uchiha heritage. 

Which is undoubtedly why he activated his Mangekyo and dropped into the clearing without even assessing the threat, like a vengeful god come to teach an ignorant people the meaning of fear.

He was inhuman, his killing intent would have made Orochimaru shake.

And, he was the reason that chuunin Haruno Sakura, on her first solo mission, previously experiencing the best day of her ninja career so far, experienced a fear so debilitating that she passed out right in front of an S-Rank missing nin, like an academy student. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've thought a lot about how I want to write Itachi in this story, and I think you will probably notice that he's kind of jaded, and not super loyal to Konoha, which might seem like a departure from reality. My opinion on this matter goes two ways. Either Itachi is so fucked up by his life's events and the brainwashing that he receives in Konoha that he actually is a loyal Konoha shinobi until his death. Or, he initially is that way, but the events of his life more or less starting with Shisui's death, end up giving him a very bleak but pragmatic perspective, which leads him to the conclusion that the best way to protect the one person left that he still really loves (Sauce), is to remain loyal. (more or less) Obviously, the second option is what I have chosen, because I think it makes the most sense given what Itachi has seen and suffered.   
> Let me know your thoughts on this, and anything else. I'm all about hearing fresh Naruto perspectives.
> 
> Also, in regards to Sakura fainting, obviously I am a Sakura simp and I want her to live out her whole life in BAMF paradise. However, in this situation, given her current experience, her recent Genjutsu torture, and the horror of pissed off Itachi materializing right tf in front of her on her first solo mission, I think it's merited. 
> 
> Peace, Love, Rock n' Roll,
> 
> -Blue.


End file.
